“Steady!” commanded the boy captain. “Butts to the front! Strike!”
The order was obeyed with the greatest alacrity. Raising a yell, the boys rushed upon the Indians, and if the latter had stood their ground, there would have been a fight, sure. But fortunately they broke and ran. The captain followed them as far as the gate, and then drawing his men up in platoon front, opened a hot fire of blank cartridges on the bridge.
“Vell done, Captain Bumroy,” said the German professor, who had kept a sharp eye on the whole proceeding. “Vell done. Ven you been in my good Brussia and fights like dot in a true pattle, you gets a decoration from the Emperor. Aha! Now stay here, and don’t let them red fellows come in some more.”
Meanwhile the rest of the battalion had not been idle. The battery had been in almost constant use; the first platoon of the second company had successfully defended the south gate; and the second platoon, assisted by the third company, had held the rest of the works, repulsing every charge that had been made upon them. The artillery roared, small arms popped, the threatening war-whoops of the Indians were answered by yells of defiance from the boy soldiers—in short, there was nothing wanting to make a real fight of it except bullets and bayonets. This state of affairs continued for half an hour, during which the different companies were handled just as they would have been in action, and then the firing ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The battle was over. Just then an orderly from headquarters stepped up and saluted Captain Pomeroy.
“The superintendent presents his compliments and requests that you will keep a lookout for a delegation from the Indian camp,” said he. “Should any appear, you will receive it and send it to the big tent under guard.”
The young captain at once detailed a corporal’s guard to wait at the bridge and escort the expected delegation inside the lines; and scarcely had the squad disappeared before it came in again, accompanied by half a dozen stately Indians, who were closely wrapped up in their blankets. They were fine-looking fellows, in spite of their feathers and paint, and if they had been entering a hostile camp they could not have behaved with more dignity and seriousness.